


Derwydd gwaed

by bulma90_13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Dystopian Future, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Nemeton, Stiles-centric, Time Travel, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 14:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11648892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulma90_13/pseuds/bulma90_13
Summary: Standing in front of him was a man. His chest was bare underneath a dark red cloak with an oversized hood. He wore cutoff pants and no shoes. Stiles cocked his head to the side, about to open his mouth when the man lifted the hood back to reveal himself.Sure, the guy had some lines on his face, and his overgrown stubble was speckled with a few gray hairs, but Stiles would know his own face anywhere.





	Derwydd gwaed

**Author's Note:**

> [Cherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher69) cheered me on when this was just a single thought in my brain: wouldn’t it be cool if Stiles was a BAMF Druid? She beta-read this and schooled me about Stiles’ Jeep, among so many other things. Thank you, my friend. ♥♥♥ Everyone, go read her [stuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher69/works)!

[](http://www.mediafire.com/view/?m29cyf0wv36zzds)

Stiles peeled out of the parking lot of the school and jammed the Jeep into third gear, checking his rearview mirror obsessively as he sped away. Scott was in the passenger seat, his breath heaving as he held his hand across the gaping wounds on his chest.

“What the hell was that thing?” Stiles asked, just to fill the space with something other than Scott’s ragged breathing.

“Don’t know.”

“It had _talons_ , Scott. Like…fingers…that were claws.”

“I know.” Scott’s breathing was now a quiet wheeze.

Stiles side-eyed him several times, trying to keep his eyes on the road since they were practically flying down the highway, but still needing to assess the damage.

“Talk to me, Scotty. What’s going on over there?”

Scott closed his red eyes and shook his head. “Hurts.”

“Like...wolfsbane poisoning, hurts?”

“Worse. So much worse.”

Stiles gripped the wheel and ground his teeth. “You know, this was supposed to be a great summer. Our last awesome, epic summer together before you go off to UC Davis and I–”

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Scott’s hand slide down from his chest as he began to slump in his seat.

“Scott?” Stiles licked his lips, head whipping sideways to glance at his friend. “Scott!”

He slammed on the brakes, the Jeep skidding to a stop in the middle of the dark road. They weren’t near a lamppost, so he could barely see. Stiles could feel the panic rising in his throat and turned his body to face him.

Scott was unconscious. Stiles ripped open what remained of his bloody shirt and hissed when he saw the cuts. No, not cuts, but thick deep gashes that spanned from his collarbone to his navel, and though they didn’t appear to be bleeding, the wounds themselves were black. The skin around the gashes had thin, spiderlike veins coming from them, like the talons had been poisoned. Of course.

“Goddammit,” Stiles seethed. He could really use his friends right about now, but none of them had responded to the group text he had sent back when he and Scott had first arrived at the school. His mind raced as he bit the nail of his thumb, watching Scott’s shallow breathing.

He burst into action, leaning Scott back in his seat and buckling him in. Then he started the Jeep and turned it around, racing back to town towards the animal clinic. Maybe Deaton wasn’t always the most forthcoming, but he’d never turned Scott away. Besides, despite Melissa’s best intentions for her son, these marks looked way too supernatural to treat at the hospital.

Stiles was too busy using one hand to keep Scott’s head from lolling too hard as he turned the sharp corner that would take him to the clinic that he didn’t see the floating mass of black in the middle of the street. He swallowed his scream and accelerated, bracing for impact, but it never came. Stiles opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them, and saw the hovering figure in his rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller as he sped away.

“Looks like a frickin’ Grim Reaper,” he muttered, still shaking with adrenaline. He blinked rapidly as he turned on his windshield wipers. Of course it had started to pour.

Stiles glanced to his right and saw Scott’s uneven chin resting on his chest. Even in the sparse light, Stiles could see his lips were blue.

“Goddammit!” He hit the steering wheel several times, almost spinning off the slick pavement and into the thick trees lining the highway. He licked his lips and ran a hand over his face. “Come on, Scott. Ya gotta help me out here, buddy. What should I do, huh? It doesn’t have a body, okay? I tried to run it over, and it literally passed right through me. How do I fight something that isn’t even _real_?”

Stiles listened to his best friend’s soft labored breathing.

“Okay, fine. It’s obviously magical. Like, really magical. So…fight fire with fire, or whatever. We need magic, right? Got any of that laying around?”

Then he saw the sign for the forest preserve.

He jerked the wheel so hard to the left, he was certain he was going to flip the Jeep. But the wheels stayed firmly on the ground and he accelerated to drive through the metal chain that was strung across the entrance. He wished he had time to put it in four-wheel drive, but there was no telling when that reaper would reappear.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” Stiles chanted as he drove further and further into the woods, the Jeep jostling violently over the uneven ground. “Where are you?” he whispered.

The moon was half full but shone bright through the sudden clearing of trees onto the large stump that was once the powerful Nemeton. Stiles slammed on the breaks, killing the engine. He whipped his seatbelt off and raced around the car to Scott. He was still unconscious, but breathing. Stiles heaved him out of the car and tried to break his fall as much as he could, but they both ended up on the wet ground. He grabbed Scott under his armpits and dragged him to the large stump.

As soon as Stiles managed to get Scott completely onto the flat base of the Nemeton, he waited for a miracle. He expected healing and magic and Scott spontaneously rising to his feet with his eyes glowing red and his fangs making his speech funny.

But nothing happened.

Stiles collapsed onto his knees next to one large root, exhausted. His adrenaline rush was over, all used up from running away from the reaper-looking thing that attacked them at the school. He swore that was the last time he ever let Scott talk him into volunteering to help the janitorial staff late at night. He didn’t care how many times their supernatural shenanigans trashed the school, some things just weren’t worth it.

Stiles glanced up at Scott’s chest, the spiderlike black veins seeping further and further out, almost to his arms. He reached a shaky hand into his pocket for his phone, ready to call his friends again, or try his father, Deaton, Chris Argent, Derek, _anyone_ …

A sudden hush came upon the forest. Every leaf in the trees was still and quiet. Even the rain had ceased. It was as if the woods itself had swallowed its breath.

Stiles knew what was coming, but he had to turn to look.

The _thing_ was gliding effortlessly across the uneven ground, its hood and cloak made from black mist. The dark space under the hood was faceless, an empty black chasm, and Stiles felt his blood run cold. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was coming for Scott. It had marked him with its talons, and now it was coming back to finish the job.

A low rumble was coming from it, like a diminished chord on a piano. It was soft at first but growing louder as it drew closer to them, the eerie crescendo making him break out into a cold sweat.

Stiles scrambled up onto the stump and forced himself to turn around and face this monster. On his hands and knees, he searched desperately for a weapon, a loose tree branch, anything, but all he succeeded in doing was scraping the palms of his sweaty hands on a bit of the tree that wasn’t flat and smooth. He didn’t even notice the splinters that drew blood.

He crouched over Scott’s prone form, still on his hands and knees, and gasped for air. He racked his brain for anything that would help him escape this absolutely insane situation.

He swallowed again and planted his hands firmly on the tree. “Please, help me. Please. Please save my friend.”

He looked up at the monster still advancing through the silent forest.

He squeezed his eyes closed, and Deaton’s patronizing voice was suddenly in his head.

_If this is going to work, Stiles…you have to believe it._

Stiles eyes snapped open. The creature was almost upon them.

He believed this was going to work. It had to.

He clenched his fists and closed his eyes, begging the Nemeton to save Scott.

The forest suddenly roared to life.

Stiles winced, blinded by the sudden light. The _thing_ let out a bloodcurdling scream, and then it was gone. He opened his eyes.

He and Scott were still on the Nemeton, but it was daytime. His Jeep was nowhere in sight, but neither was the creature. Stiles let out a breath of relief, but then his head whipped around at the sound of a twig breaking.

Standing in front of him was a man. His chest was bare underneath a dark red cloak with an oversized hood. He wore cutoff pants and no shoes. Stiles cocked his head to the side, about to open his mouth when the man lifted the hood back to reveal himself.

Sure, the guy had some lines on his face, and his overgrown stubble was speckled with a few gray hairs, but Stiles would know his own face anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” the man, this _Other Stiles_ , asked him.

Stiles blinked, then looked down at Scott still laying prone on the Nemeton, his chest still ripped open and blackened. “Scott, he—”

“How did you get here?” he demanded, _stalking_ closer. His body was tense as if waiting for Stiles to attack him.

Stiles swallowed his mirth at the thought that he was _afraid_ of himself. “The…the Nemeton. I asked it to save us, and I think it transported us here.”

His older self’s face was completely blank, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Please,” Stiles started, looking back down at Scott. “You have to help us. I think he’s dying.”

Other Stiles’ eyes were hard. “What makes you think I can save him?”

Stiles gaped at his future self, and made a vague hand gesture to the entire man before him, red cloak and all. “You’re obviously…something!” He turned back to Scott, feeling his clammy forehead. “I think he’s poisoned.”

Other Stiles glanced at Scott, then tore his eyes away. “He’s been marked by a Wraith.”

Stiles looked up. “Oh good, it has a name. I was starting to call it a ‘reaper’ in my head.”

His older self finally looked down at Scott for more than a fleeting moment, and Stiles was shocked at the sorrow he saw in his eyes. “It might as well be.”

“What do you mean?”

The older man held his hand over Scott’s wounds, as if he was sensing something Stiles couldn’t see. “Won’t be long now.”

Stiles turned to face him. “Can you please stop being so annoyingly cryptic and save Scott? I don’t care how old you are, I refuse to believe in a world where he isn’t my best friend. So save him.”

Other Stiles nearly growled, “ _I can’t._ ”

“Bullshit,” Stiles snapped. “The Nemeton didn’t send me here, to the future or another universe or whatever, for me to tell myself that we can’t save Scott.”

The older man shook his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “Once a soul has been marked by a Wraith, there’s nothing anyone can do. It will never stop until it’s collected the soul. It’s the _reason_ the Wraith _exists_.”

Stiles’ hands fell to Scott’s shoulders and he squeezed his eyes shut tight. “So that’s it? There’s nothing you can do to help us?”

“I can give him something for the pain.”

Stiles whipped his head up like he was electrocuted. “What are you waiting for? Give it to him!”

“I don’t have it on me. It’s back at the house.”

Stiles looked around at the grove. He saw nothing but trees in any direction. “Okay, fine. Where’s your car?”

“I don’t own a car.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, all right, you have that whole Man versus Wild look going on. I guess I really should try to reduce my carbon footprint, but somehow I fail to see the logic in not owning a car when you’re literally half-naked and barefoot in the middle of the woods.”

Other Stiles bent over and lifted Scott as if his weight was negligible, cradling him to his bare chest like a child. Stiles cleared his throat and vowed that the moment he made it back home to his time with Scott, he would go to the gym. Like, every day.

“Stay close,” his counterpart warned him. “The Wraith is still out there.”

Stiles tried to keep up with him, but his future self was seriously jacked and passed through the thick woods like he walked this path everyday. Maybe he did.

“So, uh…what are you, exactly?” Stiles panted. “Where is everyone? Why are you half-naked? Are you a werewolf? Does Scott turn me into a werewolf?”

“Stop talking.”

Stiles froze and scoffed, shaking his head. “Seriously, dude. You gotta give me something. I can accept the fact that I become basically a crazy hippie that lives in the woods, but—”

Stiles did stop talking. Because the thick trees were suddenly thinning and he could see the old burnt-out Hale house in the distance.

“Please don’t tell me that’s your house.”

“That’s my house,” Other Stiles deadpanned.

Stiles blinked. “Why do you live in Derek’s creepy old house?”

Other Stiles never got the chance to reply.

A sudden hush fell upon the woods, and it was inexplicably darker. Once again, the forest held its breath.

Stiles froze, but his counterpart turned abruptly and shoved Scott into his arms. Stiles wasn’t able to support more than his torso, and Scott’s legs slammed hard into the ground.

“Run,” Other Stiles breathed, turning away from him as he unclasped the red cloak fastened at his neck. The fabric fell away to reveal one large tattoo that spanned from the man’s left wrist all the way up his arm, around his upper back and then back down his right arm. Stiles thought he saw it _move_ as he continued to gape.

“Wha…what is that?”

“Run!” the man repeated.

Stiles began dragging Scott toward the house, but suddenly froze again.

Because the tattoo on the man’s back _was_ moving, twisting and curving around his arm, moving farther and farther to the right side until almost all of the ink was on his right forearm. And then Stiles realized what it was as the black ink began rising off of Other Stiles’ pale skin and forming its own misty black shape on the ground beside him.

It was a wolf.

In seconds, the ink was gone from the man’s skin and a ghostly shape of a large black wolf stood at his side, growling lowly at the dark woods before them.

Then Stiles heard it, the low diminished chord that signaled the Wraith was drawing near.

Other Stiles suddenly turned toward him and his eyes were almost glowing. He took Scott into his arms and began sprinting towards the house. “Run!” he screamed at Stiles.

The yell shocked Stiles into action, stumbling after him through the forest clearing just before the house. To his left, he saw the misty wolf keeping pace with them, his blue eyes glowing in the dark.

When they reached what once must have been the yard, the man once again plopped Scott into Stiles’ arms. “Get inside. Create a barrier.”

Stiles struggled under the weight of his best friend. “A barrier? With what?”

But then Stiles saw it enter the clearing. It was just as horrible as he remembered. No face in the darkness of his hood, just a low rattling breath coming from it that seemed to swallow the natural sounds of the forest.

He heaved Scott up by his armpits, dragging him to the house. It was maybe fifty feet away. He could make it.

Other Stiles stood like a statue facing the monstrous creature, the dark wolf pacing silently behind him. The Wraith slowed its pace, seeming to finally notice the man and his menacing wolf. It stopped. Then it let out a high-pitched shriek so terrible Stiles flinched and dropped Scott, his hands covering his ears instinctively.

Other Stiles stood absolutely still. “Come on, then. Come and get him.”

The Wraith advanced, quick as a whip, but the wolf was quicker. It lept and attacked, going for the fathomless hooded face of the creature.

At the same time, his counterpart dropped to his knees and dug his hands into the dirt.

“ _Madadh-allaidh teaghlach, cobhair orm!_ ”

The words sounded strange to Stiles, but also familiar, like he’d heard them before. His counterpart repeated them, this time even louder, and their meaning resonated in Stiles’ head.

“ _Wolf pack, help me!_ ”

Stiles felt the ground begin to tremble and then it erupted, spraying dirt and grass everywhere. Everywhere Stiles looked, there was something clawing its way to the surface through the dirt. Within moments, the entire clearing was full of wispy translucent shapes. Stiles blinked. They were all wolves.

Other Stiles rose to his feet and raised his arms like a symphony conductor. The wolves leapt and attacked.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed, panting as he pulled Scott to the house. “You would not fucking believe this, Scott.”

By the time Stiles made it to the decrepit house, he could see the phantom wolf forms chasing the Wraith away. Other Stiles limped over to him and helped lift Scott through the door and onto a disgusting sofa in the center of the room to the left of the stairs.

“Is it gone?” Stiles asked.

“For now.” His counterpart sounded exhausted. “But it will come back. It always does.”

The misty black wolf appeared in the doorway and cocked his head to the side.

“ _Tapadh leat, anam-charaid._ ” Other Stiles held his left arm out to the wolf, and slowly the corporeal form faded into thin mist that began twisting around his arm, beginning at the ring finger on his left hand. The tattoo was now faint, but the design was the same as before: an almost abstract-looking tribal wolf spanning the entire length of both arms.

Like before, the words suddenly had meaning in his brain. His counterpart had…thanked his soulmate? He had so many other questions, but Scott was too cold to the touch. “You said you had something for the pain?”

Other Stiles nodded, and limped over to a shelf on the wall. He returned with a wooden bowl.

“This salve will help it from spreading, but I doubt he will regain consciousness.”

Stiles bit his lip as he watched the man apply the thick gel to the black wounds. There was a band on the the ring finger of his left hand that he hadn’t noticed before: a crude, thick piece of metal with a Triskele scratched into it. Stiles studied the light ink on his counterpart’s arm, remembering the wolf’s bright blue eyes when it had taken a physical form. He remembered the words the older man had whispered to it, the meaning just suddenly _there_ without him knowing why. _Thank you, soulmate,_ Other Stiles had said to it.

“That wolf, the one on your arm…it’s Derek, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really a question, but the man answered anyways. “Not exactly.”

Stiles swallowed. “And those other wolves…the pale ones that looked like ghosts?”

“I guess that’s what you could call them. Ghosts of the Hale pack.”

Stiles listened to Scott’s breathing become a little less labored as the salve soothed his wounds. He looked around the house. It was as if nature had reclaimed it. There were vines growing through every window, no glass left in their frames. There was a rather large sapling growing up through the staircase to the second floor. Thin garments were draped over the branches like a makeshift clothesline. There wasn’t even a door on the house.

Stiles finally turned back to the man he would become. “Everyone’s dead, aren’t they?”

Other Stiles turned away from Scott and put a lid on the bowl of salve. “I need to lay down for a minute. Wake me if anything comes near the house. It’s warded, so we’ll have some warning.” His counterpart walked out of the room and then leapt up into the branches of the tree growing through the staircase, climbing his way to the second floor.

Stiles just sighed into the silence. So much for getting answers from him. He looked around the room, then got to his feet. He decided he might as well learn what he could from his surroundings.

The other side of the house held the kitchen and what Stiles assumed might’ve once been a dining room, but this Other Stiles had converted it into a greenhouse of sorts. He recognized a couple plants, but most were completely unfamiliar to him. Stiles allowed himself a moment of sadness as he realized there was no cannabis to be had. He could really use something to calm his nerves.

He opened a door near the kitchen pantry that led to a cellar. It was dark, but Stiles noticed candles along the entire wall leading down. He ransacked through the kitchen cabinets for a lighter and finally found a box of wooden matches. He lit the candles one by one as he descended the stairs.

The cellar _smelled_ like magic. It was pulsing with energy, making Stiles’ skin tingle and the hair on the back of his neck stick up. He looked around at the charred walls and his stomach dropped. This was where the Hale family was burned alive.

He took the stairs two at a time back up to the kitchen and slammed the door. He’d go back and snuff out the candles later, as soon as he caught his breath. The air down there was so thick, he wondered if they wouldn’t burn themselves out.

He wandered back through the house to check on Scott. He was still on the dirty couch, his breathing was steady, and he looked as comfortable as he could be, given that his chest had been ripped open.

Stiles turned to the staircase. The small tree looked sturdy enough, and Other Stiles had to have at least fifty pounds on him, so Stiles grabbed the lowest branch and swung himself to the closest intact stair. He flailed a bit, but finally made it to the second floor.

The top of the stairs was dark, but Stiles turned left down the hallway toward the east part of the house. He didn’t get very far, because the hallway abruptly ended, a rather large tree transecting the entire path that once led to what were probably many bedrooms. It was as if a part of the house had just split off, though whether that was from nature reclaiming the land, neglect or the fire, Stiles couldn’t tell. He turned back toward the stairs.

The west side was clearly where his counterpart spent most of his time. There was a bathroom of sorts, but it had no running water and there was a large rain barrel where the toilet once was, a large pipe coming down from a crude hole in the roof. It didn’t smell terrible, but Stiles wondered what would drive him to live alone in the woods without basic plumbing.

The next room was a decent size, but the metal bed frame was missing the mattress. Instead, there were bottles and bottles of black powder lined up on the metal slats of the bed. Stiles didn’t need them to be labeled to know it was mountain ash. There was a crude wooden table on the left side of the room that held some strange looking marks. Runes, they looked like. And there were some other symbols he didn’t recognize. In the center of the table was a book marked with the Celtic fivefold knot.

His hand hovered over it, but he didn’t open it. It felt…warded somehow. Like the Other Stiles would know he looked.

The next room was a large bedroom at the very end of the hall. It even had a door, though the varnish had peeled away years ago. He pushed the door open and was almost blinded by the light.

The room certainly looked lived in. The vines and moss that grew over almost every inch of the rest of the house were all carefully removed in this room. The walls were a bright white and the windows were clear of any tree branches. They were even dressed with some light-colored gauzy material that was moving serenely as the wind came in through the open windows.

Stiles sighed. This room was peaceful.

There were only two pieces of furniture in the room, one of which was a large wooden bed that held his counterpart’s sleeping body. His bare feet were hanging off the end of the bed and his head was turned to the side; his limbs sprawled out like a starfish on its belly. There were claw marks on the headboard on the left side of the bed.

The only other thing in the room was a dresser. Attached to the back was an antique mirror. But Stiles didn’t pay much attention to that because his attention was drawn to the pictures that framed it.

He thought maybe he should have been more surprised than he was. There was a very faded picture from his senior year of high school, of Malia, Lydia and Scott in the quad. Another of him and Scott in their lacrosse gear, but most of them looked more recent. In the upper righthand corner of the mirror, there was a Polaroid of him and Derek. They looked like they were laying in the grass. Derek’s eyes had spiked the lens, causing the usual flare effect, but Other Stiles was laughing, his mouth open. There was a similar photo, this one had Derek kissing Other Stiles on the cheek, his eyes closed, thus avoiding the flash effect. More of the same, a couple old ones of him and Scott, then finally a more formal looking photo: he and Derek were both in profile, Deaton holding their hands together, and his dad standing off to the side, looking misty-eyed.

Suddenly there were two reflections in the old mirror.

Stiles spun around, flailing.

Other Stiles was looking past him at the photos. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Stiles was still trying to compose himself from being caught snooping. Though really, his counterpart didn’t seem all that surprised, so maybe he expected it from himself.

Other Stiles kept talking. “Deaton agreed to officiate our handfasting ceremony, though he hardly approves of my life choices.”

Stiles looked back at the photo in question. “Handfasting?”

“ _Pòsadh-bliadhna_. A Druid wedding.”

Stiles tried to understand. “Deaton is…homophobic? That’s weird, he always gave off a sort of free-love hippie vibe to me.”

Other Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not that. My magick.”

Stiles turned to look at him again. “So you’re a Druid. Like Deaton.”

“No.”

“No…you’re not a Druid?”

“No, I’m not like Deaton,” Other Stiles snapped.

“But you are a Druid?” Stiles was just trying to clarify.

“I am _Druí fuil. Derwydd gwaed_.” His counterpart paused, looking down at his hands. “Blood Druid.”

“Well that sounds…slightly evil.” Stiles forced himself not to acknowledge the chill that ran down his spine. “That’s not anything like a _Darach_ , is it?”

“Deaton would say it is. Both are considered abominations, perversions of nature.”

Stiles paused a moment, collecting his thoughts. “But you saved me. You saved Scott. You’re not evil.”

Other Stiles smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s disgusting to see how unbelievably naïve I once was. You think all Druids are capable of doing what I just did? You think Deaton could summon the dead wolves of the very pack he swore to protect? You think they would fight for _him?_ ”

Stiles said nothing.

“He doesn’t understand. He’s perfectly fine with standing by and watching as everyone I love and care about is ripped away. I tried his way. The passive way. Guide, but don’t interfere. All his bullshit about the ‘regression to the mean,’ well I was tired of it. I needed more. I needed to be able to protect my friends. My family.”

Stiles took a step back, his hands up. “Dude, I get it. You lost everyone. You did what you thought was right.”

In reality, Stiles didn’t get it. Because something seriously fucked had to happen to him in order for him to become a dark Druid.

His counterpart whipped his head to stare at him. “You want to know what happened all those years ago when I drove Scott to the grove and placed him upon the Nemeton? _Nothing._ Not a goddamn thing. I had to watch as that monster ripped the soul right out of him and left him dead on that fucking stump. I had to drag his dead body back to the Jeep and drive so that I had enough bars to call Melissa and tell her that her son was dead.”

Stiles tried not to shake, but he could see it so clearly in his head: Scott’s body, cold already from the gashes, his skin pale and his chest completely still. Death.

“Tell me you would have done something different, anything different, when not three days later, another Wraith came, this time for Lydia.” Other Stiles’ eyes were crazed. “And then another, for Malia. It was never-ending. And I didn’t know who or what was causing it.”

Stiles needed to hear this. He needed to know who was behind this so he could stop it.

“But you eventually figured it out?” Stiles asked quietly.

Other Stiles scoffed. “You mean you haven’t yet? You can’t think of someone so crazy with revenge that they would split their soul into a dozen pieces just to take out every last one of us?” Other Stiles began pacing in the bright room. “Oh yeah, that’s how the Wraiths are made. She cuts out a piece of her own soul to send after one of us. She’s killing herself to make sure we die too.”

“Kate,” Stiles breathed. It was starting to come together.

“I went to Deaton, at first. And he taught me what he knew. About nature and balance and harmony. But nothing that could save us. Nothing that could _stop_ them.” Other Stiles abruptly stopped pacing. “When Liam died, I needed backup. So I called Braeden and she got me Derek’s number. He came immediately. He knew it had to be Kate. It was his idea that we start living in his old house because it was already warded. He was the one who encouraged me to find another way, a different way, because Deaton’s way was worthless. So we started looking into other magicks…”

Stiles nodded, understanding, but his counterpart made no motion to even acknowledge him.

“…and it turns out Druids _can_ fight. It just takes a pretty hefty toll on the body. And a pretty large sacrifice to jump start that power.”

“Like, uh…human sacrifices?”

Stiles was uncomfortable with how long it took the older man to respond.

“What do you think?” The older man sneered.

“Well, I hope they deserved it,” Stiles spat.

The man scoffed again. “Of course he deserved it. He’s the reason Kate’s plan worked.”

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“The man I ritually sacrificed on the Nemeton. Do you think I picked some random homeless person? What do you think I am, crazy?”

Stiles held his breath. “Who was it?”

His older self began pacing again, but this time it was more like a prowl. “Haven’t you ever wondered how Kate managed to trap almost the entire Hale pack in the cellar of this house and burn them alive with only one of them managing to escape with burns down his entire body? Surely you’ve realized that a cellar door is no match for a werewolf. Obviously, she had help. Magical help.”

Stiles shook his head. “No way. Kate could’ve gotten her hands on some mountain ash. She could’ve—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” the older man chided. “You’re forgetting something crucial. Sure, even Scott’s mom can pour a line of mountain ash over a doorway. But this wasn’t any old werewolf Kate was trapping. This was an entire pack of born wolves, one of whom was the Alpha Talia Hale, known for her ability to fully shift, respected and feared by Alphas everywhere. Kate had help. The help of a Druid.”

“Deaton,” Stiles found his voice, but it was only a whisper.

“My thoughts instantly went to him as well,” his counterpart breathed. “But that’s only because I didn’t know the whole story. You see, Deaton _was_ Talia’s emissary. But he wasn’t her first.”

Stiles shook his head. “Enough with the mind games. You’re as bad as him. Just, stop. Tell me. Just tell me what I need to know.”

The other man stopped, his hands lowering to his sides. His face was eerily blank. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve been alone for so long, sometimes I forget…”

Stiles waited for him to finish, but his mouth remained a straight line and he stared off into space. Stiles resisted the urge to sigh. “I’m sorry too. I just…I want to save my friends. _Before_ I end up like—” Stiles nearly bit his tongue.

“Like me?” Other Stiles finished, meeting his eyes. “That’s okay. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to become like me either.”

Stiles cleared his throat and licked his lips, shifting from foot to foot. “Well, you uh…seem to be moving around a lot better.”

The older man looked down at himself as if in a daze. He was still dressed only in a dirty pair of cutoffs. “Yeah. Blood magick, it…takes a lot out of me.”

Stiles watched him. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to judge the man in front of him. Stiles could see he was in pain. That he was lonely and had lost everything. Maybe Stiles wouldn’t fare any better given the same circumstances. But he was determined to try.

“So who betrayed the Hales?” Stiles asked.

“His name was Darius Fauth. He was Deaton’s mentor and Talia’s emissary. She rightfully started to question his loyalties, then replaced him with his protege, Deaton. After that, it was almost too easy for Kate to find Fauth and pay him off. Between his betrayal and Kate fucking with Derek, the Hale pack never stood a chance.”

Stiles absorbed that, then nodded. He looked back at the mirror framed with photographs. “If you were being hunted by Kate and the Wraiths, how did you find time to get married?”

Other Stiles smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. “After Derek came here to live with me, it wasn’t long before Kate marked him. I had some basic Druidic knowledge, so I planted a circle of Mountain Ash trees around the property. A Wraith came for Derek, but it couldn’t cross the property line. With a pinch of ash and a wave of my hand, I can seal this place in a heartbeat.”

“You trapped him here.” Stiles didn’t even have the breath to gasp. “You locked him up.”

Other Stiles’ eyes were hard. “I never locked him up. I locked everything else out. We were happy here. Kate couldn’t fucking _touch_ us.”

Stiles looked around the bright room. “If that were true, he’d still be here.”

His counterpart shoved him, hard, and Stiles tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. He glared up at his future self. His ass hurt and his wrist felt a little numb, but he’d live. Stiles was shocked at the juvenile outburst until the screaming started.

“SHE WENT AFTER MY DAD!” His counterpart’s bare chest was heaving. “She went after my dad. He was retired, perfectly content to putter around in his house and go fishing in the pond nearby, and she just fucking killed him. Gutted him like an animal and left him there for his deputies to find days later. Derek said…he said I should go to the funeral. That I deserved the chance to say goodbye.”

Stiles was still on the floor, rubbing his wrist absently. He watched as first his counterpart began to shake, then the house began to shake with him as if it were a part of him.

“She attacked me at the funeral. I fought her off, but my magick wasn’t as strong back then. I made it back to the house just in time to watch Derek break through the mountain ash barrier and almost rip her head off. She got away, but it didn’t matter. Because the Wraith was waiting. And it took the last person on this earth that meant anything to me.”

There were tear tracks on Other Stiles’ face, but he didn’t make any sound. The house still trembled.

“I buried him next to his house, in the yard. Then I devoted my life to hunting her down. Despite what Chris might say, she wasn’t hard to find. And when I did, I bound her in mountain ash vines, dragged her back to the Nemeton and slit her fucking throat.”

The older man bent over toward Stiles suddenly, grabbing his wrist. There was a burning sensation, so hot Stiles tried to rip his hand away, and then the pain was gone. His counterpart stood, then offered his hand. The tears on his face were gone.

“I’ll never forgive myself for letting Derek die,” he said, helping Stiles to his feet.

“He was trying to protect you,” Stiles countered. He was sure of it. Derek was always trying to protect Stiles.

Other Stiles scoffed. “That was supposed to be my job.” The house was quiet. “We should check on Scott.”

Stiles followed his counterpart downstairs. Scott was still resting almost peacefully on the dusty sofa. Stiles knelt down beside him, feeling his clammy forehead.

“You lived here. In this house, with Derek.”

Other Stiles stared at him. “Yes.”

“For years.” Stiles pressed.

“Yes,” his counterpart confirmed. “What are you getting at?”

“You can protect Scott. He can live here. You can—”

“No. Absolutely not. You see those marks on his chest? There’s nothing that’s going to cure that except death. He has literally been marked by death.”

“But we can work on a way to—”

“Whatever you’re thinking of trying, I’ve tried. I’ve tried for years. And I’m a lot smarter and a hell of a lot stronger than you. I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into figuring out how to stop the Wraiths, and now there’s no one left but me. You can’t cheat death. That Wraith is never going to stop until it collects his soul.”

Stiles ground his teeth to keep from screaming. Scott’s face looked free of pain, but he was still pale. He was still dying. Stiles heard a soft exhale of breath and looked up.

His older self’s face was striped red and orange as the setting sun peaked through the branches growing through the open windows. It looked like war paint. “It won’t stop until it collects his soul,” he whispered again.

The older man suddenly burst into motion, pushing Stiles aside and gathering Scott into his arms.

Stiles scrambled to his feet. “What are you doing? Wait—where are you going?”

The older man acted as if he didn’t hear him. The dark line of mountain ash over the doorway parted with a tilt of his chin, and he strode outside with Scott in his arms.

Stiles ran after him. “What are you doing?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he replied softly. He placed Scott gently at the edge of the circle of trees surrounding the property. Other Stiles’ mouth curved slightly and he bowed his head. “I was too selfish to even consider thinking of this before.” He looked up at Stiles, smiling sadly. “But now I find I have nothing left to live for.”

Stiles’ eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “So killing all of us, that’s the answer?”

“I’m not killing anyone but myself,” he replied, and the light suddenly exploded.

Stiles was knocked back several feet, landing on the ground. His eyes were blinded by pure white light. The older man was yelling, speaking words Stiles didn’t understand, and then it was deafeningly silent. His eyes finally stopped watering enough for him to focus on the two in front of him.

Scott’s chest was smooth and clean, no signs that it’d ever been ripped open and poisoned by the Wraith.

His counterpart wavered slightly where he knelt next to his best friend. Other Stiles’ bare chest was now covered in thick deep gashes that spanned from his collarbone to his navel. The gashes were poisoned with black spiderlike veins.

“You…you…” But it was clear what he did. He took Scott’s place. He would die in Scott’s place. Stiles wanted to scream. “You think this is the answer? Kill yourself and leave us stranded here?”

His counterpart looked both completely at peace and absolutely overcome with pain. It was maddening. “This is the only way, Stiles. Take my grimoire. The book with the five-fold knot on it. I know you saw it. Take it, and use it to find a way back to your time. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out. Find Fauth. Kill him. Find Kate. Kill her before she can mark anyone else. I know you can do it.”

“What about you?” Stiles swallowed the tightness in his throat.

The older man smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I’m going to see my friends. My family. My husband…my Derek.”

A hush fell upon the forest, as if the woods itself had swallowed its breath. A single diminished chord sounded in the distance.

Other Stiles got to his feet and turned to face the sound. He raised his arms, and the branches of the trees bent and swayed, creating an opening in their canopy. The circle was broken.

The Wraith was there almost instantly, as if it had been waiting in the shadows of the forest.

Stiles watched helplessly as the Wraith descended upon his older self, the black mist of its form completely devouring him. The forest took a deep breath, Stiles blinked, and then it was gone.

His counterpart was still on the sparse grass, curled slightly on his side. The black lines of ink on his arms and back were gone, as were the gashes on his chest.

Stiles scrambled to the body, checking for any sign of life. His body was cold and stiff, as if it had been there for hours. Stiles squeezed his future self’s arms and closed his eyes.

**“It worked…”**

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing just a few feet away was a pale wisp of a form, like a spirit. It was his counterpart.

**“Remember what I said, Stiles. Get Scott home safe. Then kill Kate.”**

Stiles took a shaky breath. Nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Just inside the grove of trees, a bright light appeared, accompanied by the faint sound of a harmonic chord. It grew bigger and brighter, the sound crescendoing, demanding both Stiles and his counterpart’s attention. The light continued to grow.

In the center of the light was another form. His skin was honey, his eyes were aquamarine. His face was covered in dark scruff. He was smiling.

Stiles let out another shaky breath as he blinked away the tears in his eyes.

His counterpart let out a cry of joy and floated toward the light. There were other forms in the light as well: his friends, his mother, his father. Scott was there, too. All of them were smiling, holding out their hands, waiting for Other Stiles to join them.

When the spirit reached the light, the people waiting there embraced him warmly. Other Stiles turned around, smiling at him and waving. Then they all began to fade.

By the time the light was gone, and all signs of them had disappeared, Stiles’ cheeks were still wet.

Scott sat up slowly and blinked at him in the dark. “Dude, what happened?”

Stiles let out a huff of laughter and pulled Scott into a tight hug. He hid his watery smile in his best friend’s neck.

“I saved you.”

***

Three days later, Stiles and Scott make it back to their time. Stiles collapses into his bed and plugs in his dead phone. It's the middle of the night, but he scrolls through his contacts.

Derek picks up on the second ring.

“Stiles?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!   
> [I tumbl](https://bulma90-13.tumblr.com/).


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